


Wordless

by anoneventuality



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Consensual Kink, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Other, Post-Game(s), Sex with Sentient Animals, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-22
Updated: 2015-02-22
Packaged: 2018-03-14 13:47:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3412940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anoneventuality/pseuds/anoneventuality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An answer to the kink meme request for Lavellan/Solas as the Dread Wolf (literally).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wordless

**Author's Note:**

> For warnings, look at the tags.

WORDLESS

 

Some things are only made clear to Lavellan in the aftermath, when the dust falls and Corypheus has crumbled to the ground. The conversations she had with Solas take on new meanings. It is like a quake, like a film lifted from her eyes. He’d meant to tell her, and instead he took her vallaslin. He was never who she thought he was, and yet she feels she knows him.

It takes her less than a day to make up her mind to look for him. Leliana says there are no clues, no traces, no nothing, but Lavellan is a Dalish hunter and tracking is her heritage as much as the stories about who she is tracking.

It takes her time, but she finds him; he allows her to find him. He seems different, or perhaps she sees him with different eyes; either way, she is done taking no for an answer.

“ _Lethallin_ ,” she calls him, claiming a kinship he had once acknowledged.

He takes one look at her and nods.

*~*

She is uncertain what to name him besides that, and to ask the question seems to her a concession she is less than willing to make. She uses endearments and, seldom, insults, instead. When he fucks her, she is mostly quiet, and when he breaks her silence, she remains nonverbal, as he does. He is less than verbose anyway; gone are the days when he would take the slightest encouragement to break into lectures. Now that the source of his wisdom is revealed, he keeps to himself. She doesn’t ask him the purpose of his wandering, for the time being content enough to accompany him. She needs time to make her decisions, to know what she wants with him. She destroyed one pretender to godhood only to be bound by her heart’s desire to an ancient capricious and infamous god of her own people; the irony is not lost on her.

*~*

The first time she sees him as a wolf, she gasps in fear, her own response surprising her. She who had slain high dragons. The reaction is primal, prey meeting predator. They are fighting a group of abominations, and his transformation catches her by surprise. He deals with the demons leaving her useless and sidelined, and when he is done, he comes back to himself.

“I’m alright,” she tells him, answering an unasked question.

“Good,” he says, and then he kisses her, gentler than usual. “You have nothing to fear from me, _ma vhenan_ ,” he lies, the honey-tongued betrayer.

*~*

He grows less inhibited afterwards, spending more time in his wolven skin, fighting in this manner as often as he does with his staff. She becomes accustomed to his shape. He is daunting, large and graceful, his thick fur soft to the touch, as she discovers one day, inadvertently. Having touched him once, she repeats the experiment, her fingers getting tangled in the fur as she strokes and scratches him.

He transforms back and catches her hand, kisses her fingers before untying her laces and fucking her on the soft grass.

*~*

Her curiosity always gets the better of her, in the end. Entertaining fantasies and believing them to be a well-guarded secret around a god who walks through the Fade is not her proudest moment. Still, for a long time, if he knows about her growing fascination with his other form, he never lets on. When her heart skips in a way that she must attribute to both fear and arousal as the shadow of his larger frame falls on her, he never seems to notice.

Yet, he no longer only turns in the heat of a fight; instead, he transforms in front of her eyes as they run through the forest, her bare feet and his paws making no sound. She can only keep up because he allows her to.

She grows bolder and touches his fur more frequently, running her fingers down the side of his neck, then kissing him. He smells almost the same, but wilder. She would say more dangerous, but gradation seems to be beside the point.

Finally, when Lavellan first dreams about being fucked by his wolf form, she is not surprised, only impatient.

*~*

She is tongue-tied, at a loss for words, and they don’t speak of it, but after the dream it seems inevitable to her. After all, she is never alone in her dreams anymore, his presence constant at the edge of her consciousness. She might not know exactly how to urge him on, but she will, ultimately.

When she does, there is no design behind it, no forethought. They’ve been walking for hours, and he has been unusually talkative, telling her one of his stories. When he finally grows tired of speaking and looks at her as though questioningly, she gives him a nod much like he did, back when she first found him.

He transforms, and they continue on their way some more, in companionable silence, for an hour or so, until he suddenly takes off. She runs after him, only to find him with his prey: a ram, killed cleanly and quickly.

She takes out her knife and skins the animal. He remains as he was, prowling around, guarding her as she makes swift work of his catch, praying all the while.

When she is done, the animal prepared, the ritual complete, unthinkingly, she brings her hands, bloodied down to the elbow, close to him, allowing him to lick them.

Whatever she’s thought, she never expected the sensation that courses through her as his tongue touches her skin. She makes a low sound in her throat, a half-choked moan. He gives her one more searching look and she meets his eyes and gives another nod before running her fingers, no longer bloody, under his chin. His fur is thick there, soft and pleasant to the touch.

As wolf, he could break her like a twig. The thought makes her mouth dry, yet she continues her stroking, thrilled at his awesome size. She grows more decisive, touching his belly and then lower, where his cock is mostly hidden from sight.

He growls, deep in his throat, and she is not certain if it is a warning or an invitation. Perhaps both.

She rubs her entire body against his side, her breasts sensitive to the touch even through the clothing, and she does not bite back the moan that escapes her lips.

He turns to face her and after a few seconds’ pause, his teeth nip at the laces of her clothing. Despite her own boldness before, she blushes crimson, a wave of heat cresting and crushing through her body.

She wants him to have her, now.

He watches her disrobe, and under the scrutiny she is slower than she would have liked, her fingers suddenly clumsy. She thinks after all the time spent with him she can read him well enough to know he is spurring her on, but a lingering doubt makes her second-guess herself. She lays out an old, soft animal skin for a blanket, feeling his gaze on her all the while.

She feels more naked than usual once she finally sheds the last of her clothes, her skin in stark contrast to his fur. She rubs herself against him again; he is warm to the touch and his tongue is hot when he licks her hands once more and then moves to her breasts.

He nudges her onto all fours, finally growing insistent, towering over her. The Dalish may not worship the Dread Wolf, but she will, on her hands and knees. If there were ever stories like this, of the Elvhen led astray only to be possessed, they have long been forgotten, at least to her clan. It takes her a moment to find a position that aligns her cunt, wet and soft, pulsing with need, against his cock. She cannot see him behind her, but the member feels silky smooth in contrast to his soft fur, larger than in his human form and for a second she doubts if she will accommodate him but he shares none of her hesitation. He enters her slowly but unrelentingly, and she makes a keening noise she can hardly believe to be coming from her.

If possible, he seems to be growing harder and bigger once he is sheathed inside her. She experiences pain for a split second and then it is dampened, and she is not sure if it’s her body responding or some magic of his, but another moan escapes her, answered by his growl, a low sound that resonates through her entire body.

He withdraws only partly and pushes back in, and she can barely stay in place against the force of his movement. She makes no effort to move with him, able only just to hold in position as he finally fucks her. The heat spreads through her body as she moans uncontrollably while he speeds up, presses against her, ruts until she comes and then goes on while she is coming, her cunt barely able to spasm due to his sheer size. Her orgasm sweeps through her but he is far from done, going on and on, spurring her into a second climax that goes on longer and that makes her bite her own mouth, tasting blood. When he finally comes too, the force of it no longer surprises her.

He changes instantly as soon as he is done, and holds her, preventing her from slumping to the ground, boneless and spent. She moans again, her breathing still shallow and fast.

“ _Ma vhenan’ara_ ,” he breathes into her ear and chuckles as they lie down on the skin. Still wordless, she can only nod.


End file.
